


Lights That Sparkle and Glow

by jolybird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, minor implied past child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:43:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolybird/pseuds/jolybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac sauntered in through the front door humming under his breath in a way that shattered any hope Enjolras had of being able to do any more reading. He was wearing the most god awful penguin sweater with Christmas lights sewn into it that he had ever seen. The lights, thank god, were off, but it was easy to imagine the way he’d light up in the dark. They probably flickered too.</p>
<p>Actually, he <em>knew</em> they flickered.</p>
<p>He recognized that sweater.</p>
<p>Given the combination of the text he sent them that morning and the sweater, Combeferre owed him twenty euros.</p>
<p>;;</p>
<p>Or: the Ugly Sweater AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights That Sparkle and Glow

**Author's Note:**

> My pet project for this year was to write 25 christmas fics for December, so of course at nearly midnight on December first (like, on the dot) some dumb health problems arose & I don't know if I'm going to be able to edit, finish & post everything I was planning to. Which is rude as fuck but what can you do. I may not be able to post 25 fics, but I am going to be posting a ton of holiday fics this month because I'm SUPER PUMPED. 
> 
> So I hope y'all enjoy this really silly ugly holiday sweater au.

Enjolras was spread across their couch, _Christmas at Tiffany’s_ on his lap with one of Courfeyrac’s Christmas playlists playing soft throughout the empty apartment. He lazily turned the page of the book, eyes slightly glazed over. Combeferre had gone out for a run twenty minutes ago and Courfeyrac still hadn’t gotten back in from last night. Enjolras was taking full advantage of the peace and quiet by reading though as many of the Christmas novels he had rented from the library as he could. Who knew when the hell Courfeyrac would be back. He had sent them a text two hours ago saying only: _I think I’m dead but holy fuck you guys it’s amazing,_ so Enjolras hoped it would be hours still.

Footsteps sounded out in the hall and Enjolras shifted his position with a glance to the door, firmly hoping it was a neighbor and that Courfeyrac hadn’t been summoned by a mere thought. His hope was short lived as a key was put into the lock and the sound of the door locking sounded. There was a thud as Courfeyrac presumably went to shoulder the door open, muffled swearing and then the door unlocked.

Courfeyrac sauntered in through the front door humming under his breath in a way that shattered any hope Enjolras had of being able to do any more reading. He was wearing the most god awful penguin sweater with Christmas lights sewn into it that he had ever seen. The lights, thank god, were off, but it was easy to imagine the way he’d light up in the dark. They probably flickered too.

Actually, he _knew_ they flickered.

He recognized that sweater.

Given the combination of the text he sent them that morning and the sweater, Combeferre owed him twenty euros.

Courfeyrac froze mid-step as he noticed his friend on the couch, watching him from over the book. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

A small smile spread across his lips, “I bet that you’d get together before Christmas.”

A faint blush appeared on his friend’s cheeks and he lifted his chin and said almost haughtily, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But his voice was an octave higher than normal and it had taken on that slightly strained tone it only did when he was lying.

Enjolras smirked and then said matter-of-factly, “If you wanted to keep it a secret, you shouldn’t have worn that.”

Courfeyrac looked down to the sweater at a loss over its significance and then up to Enjolras again, who only shook his head. Suddenly, as if he couldn’t contain himself any longer, Courfeyrac blurted out, “Bahorel was coming and I needed to sneak out in a rush. It was this or nothing.” Enjolras laughed and Courfeyrac looked down at the sweater, back up at Enjolras and then smirked. He felt around the hem for a moment before breathing, “aha” and switched the lights on.

They flickered.

He threw his arms out and, unable to keep the smile off of his face, announced, “It turns out that I am, in fact, not doomed to suffer from unrequited love.”

Enjolras nodded, “Love. Right. So you’re already at that point?”

“When have I ever done anything by halves?”

“Does Jehan know you’re in love?”

“Ah—well, you see.”

Enjolras sat up and put the book down on the coffee table as he pat the seat next to him. Courfeyrac wasted no time in cuddling up next to him and worming his way under the blanket. “So what happened?” Enjolras asked with the image of a vindictive Jehan starting to form in his mind.

Courfeyrac rested his head on Enjolras shoulder and sighed. “Honestly I don’t know. One minute we were looking for Jack Frost—the stop motion movie—and the next we were on his bedroom floor and there was a significant lack of clothes.”

“And you had to rush to leave when Bahorel showed up why?”

Courfeyrac sat up straight and stared, horrified into Enjolras’ eyes. “Oh no.” he whispered and then he shot off towards the door.

“Dibs on your room after Jehan kills you.”

Courfeyrac waved his hand towards Enjolras to shut him up, “Not funny. Where are my shoes.”

  
“You’re wearing them.”

“Fuck. Right.”

As the door slammed shut, Enjolras reached for his book and leaned back into the couch again, a small smile on his lips.

 

*

 

“Oh my god.” Courfeyrac told Bahorel breathlessly when he opened the door, glowering at him. “I panicked. I went all the way home and Enjolras made fun of me for stealing this ugly fucking sweater and that’s when I _realized_ I panicked and so I came back.”

Bahorel shut his eyes for a moment but then stepped back to let Courfeyrac through, “I don’t know if Jehan’s amused or pissed so you should probably be careful going back in there.”

Courfeyrac stopped and turned the sweater’s lights on.

Bahorel stared at him blankly for a moment and then turned away, swearing fluently under his breath. Courfeyrac’s smile slipped from his face as he turned back towards Jehan’s door and he steeled himself for either Jehan laughing his ass off or attempting to murder him.

He stepped forward and pushed open the door. Jehan had the lights off and so the sweater gave the room a soft flickering glow.

Silence rang out for a moment, Jehan had his back towards the door, smoking by his window. Then he started to laugh, choking on the smoke.

“What the fuck,” he asked between gasps, “was that?”

“I panicked!” Courfeyrac cried, “I heard Bahorel and I panicked.”

“Yeah. You panicked and practically fell down the fire escape. The neighbors came to ask if you were alright.”

“I what?”

Jehan shut his eyes and gestured to the window. Courfeyrac walked over to see and, yep, the stairs had skid marks in the snow.

“I wasn’t thinking.”

Jehan laughed and rested his head on Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “That’s outstandingly obvious. Are you alright? I’ve half a mind to call someone to make sure you didn’t give yourself a concussion falling down the fucking fire escape.”

“I didn’t—“

“You couldn’t get out of here fast enough!” Jehan laughed, giving Courfeyrac a nudge.

Courfeyrac grimaced. “Sorry.”

Jehan shrugged, “Whatever, it’s not like it was because the sex was bad. And I didn’t think it was because you regretted having awesome sex with me.”

“It wasn’t—it’s not.”

Jehan grabbed Courfeyac’s hands. “We’ve been friends for a while. And you’ve never been shy about—anything actually. I sort of just assumed you had a moment. That you thought about your birth father and you panicked.”

Courfeyrac watched Jehan for a moment and then squeezed his hands and laughed, “Actually—no I—that wasn’t it actually. I haven’t been afraid because of him in ages. Since Maman and Mom got married when I was just staring college.”

“Yeah.” Jehan smiled. “I was there, remember?”

“Oh.” Courfeyrac laughed, “Shit. Yeah. You did come didn’t you?”

“I sat next to Enjolras who cried the entire time.”

Courfeyrac smiled at the memory. “It didn’t have anything to do with that. I just heard Bahorel coming and I wasn’t ready for him to joke about it and then you laughing the whole thing off. I was already…in too deep? I couldn’t just stay and have last night brushed aside.”

Jehan’s eyebrows shot up, “In too deep?”

“Don’t make me say it.” Courfeyrac couldn’t keep the growing fear off his face.

“Oh my god.” Jehan gasped and he put out his cigarette out on the windowsill. “Oh my god. So like—“

“Eloquent.”

“Shut up.” Jehan squeezed his hands and gave a nervous laugh, “Shut up.” He pressed his lips together and then pulled Courfeyrac over to sit on the bed. “I need you to say it.”

“Say what.”

“You know. Please I need you to say it. I know we just had sex last night. Really fantastic sex last night. But we’ve been friends for ages. We’ve been through so much together. You invited me to your mothers’ wedding after knowing me for two months. You sat up with me when I lost that internship with the publishing company and you’re the reason I got that chapbook published. I only did it because you stole my rough draft and wrote ‘wow you’re doing the world a disservice if you don’t send this in’ on every other page. You’re been there through so much and you’re hilarious and handsome and fuck I think I’m in love with you.” He said the last bit as if he were just realizing it himself, a slightly bemused expression on his face.

“You think?” 

Jehan nodded with a smile.

Courfeyrac’s expression slowly morphed from terrified to slightly deranged and he let out a shaky laugh, “Oh good because I _know_ I’m in love with you and this could have gone a whole lot worse.”

“You probably have a concussion.” Jehan said suddenly, dropping Courfeyrac’s hands and walking stiffly towards the door. “Bahorel, I think Courfeyrac’s concussed," he called, opening the door a crack. 

Bahorel instantly replied, his voice so close that Jehan flinched a little, “I heard your whole conversation, the whole apartment building heard your whole conversation and I’m fucking leaving. Goodbye see you tomorrow.”

“I— _Bahorel_.” Jehan turned away from the door, his arms crossed. Courfeyrac sat on the bed, his sweater still flashing and Jehan kicked the door shut behind him, almost in time with Bahorel shutting the front door. “Take that thing off.”

“I’m cold.”

Jehan rolled his eyes, crossed the room and slipped his hands under the sweater to press against Courfeyrac’s skin. “You won’t be in a minute.”

 

*

 

The Sweater Incident, as it came to be called the moment Bahorel retold the story to Bossuet and Joly, was set to go down in Les Amis history but then something happened that made it even better.

It happened _again_.

 

 *

 

Grantaire awoke, arm thrown above his head, lips pressed to his shoulder, drool on his cheek. He grunted and turned his head, squinting his eyes tighter as his neck protested the awkward angle he had been sleeping in. He tugged the blankets back over his bare shoulders and was set to fall back asleep when the blankets _tugged back_.

His eyes shot open, suddenly awake and he realized that his neck wasn’t the only thing that was sore. He rolled around to face Enjolras and flinched: Enjolras was glaring at him.

“Um—“ Grantaire began dumbly which only made Enjolras narrow his eyes.

“You just took all the blankets. It’s freezing in your room.”

“Oh well—here—“ Clumsily, Grantaire started to untangle himself from the sheets but Enjolras just rolled his eyes and pushed himself up, stretching as he did so. Grantaire shamelessly watched his back muscles flex under the scratch marks.

Enjolras stood and Grantaire sighed, hugging his pillow and putting his head back down. It was too early for breakfast which was a damn shame because he’d been craving making breakfast with Enjolras since he came down from his post-orgasm high. In fact, he was fairly certain he had dreamt about it.

Enjolras started laughing and Grantaire looked up sharply. It took him a moment to find him in the dim morning light but he was standing there in his boxers in front of his dresser, holding up a red lump of something. Enjolras noticed him looking and twisted his arms around so that Grantaire could see a Christmas tree sewn onto the front of a misshapen sweater.

“I found that in the bottom of the dresser. Bossuet gave it to me.” He tried to defend why it was in his room but found that he was too tired and too happy to even really give a fuck.

“Can I wear it?”

“Can you—why the fuck would you want to wear that?” He asked, flopping back onto his pillow.

“It’ll be hilarious.” Enjolras chuckled and okay if it got him to fuck him again, he was all for ugly Christmas jumpers. He could probably make it work. Or shut his eyes or something. Grantaire watched Enjolras study the pulled thread connecting ornaments to the plaid tree, a smile on his face, much, much too happy this early in the morning. He stretched, arching his back, resting his forearms against the headboard and groaned as he shut his eyes for a second. Enjolras met his eyes when he opened them again and his smile twisted into something mischievous. He put the sweater back down onto the dresser and walked back over to the bed. Grantaire raised an eyebrow, still half paused in his stretch. Thank god he put that fucking thing down, thank god, thank god. Enjolras bent down, resting his hands on either side of his waist and kissed him, still smirking. One of Enjolras’ hands moved to Grantaire’s hip and he moved his thumb in little circles on his skin. When he pulled away, Grantaire found himself leaning after him. Enjolras smiled and moved his hand up Grantaire’s side to cup his face as he kissed him again. Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ hips and guided him back onto the bed so that he was sitting on top of him. They broke apart for a breath and Grantaire chucked, “You’re so weird.” Enjolras made a noise that was half in agreement, half offended as he bent down to kiss his neck.

 

*

 

Enjolras walked through the door with a smirk already on his face. Combeferre glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow over his mug of tea but it was at that moment that Courfeyrac, sat next to him on the couch, looked up as well and gave a terrible gasp. His eyes were on the sweater that hung from Enjolras’ frame. Courfeyrac lurched forward, his papers flying off his lap and onto the floor. “Holy fucking shit, Enjolras,” he gasped.

With a wary look to the man next to him, Combeferre focused his attention on the blond struggling to get out of his boots by the door. “Where have you been? It’s been—“

Courfeyrac, however, was not done. He swatted Combeferre in the arm in his excitement, “ Holy fucking shit—‘ferre—Do you know what this means? No obviously you _don’t_ because you’re _not freaking the fuck out right now_. Enjolras is currently wearing a neon sign—“

“It’s not flashing like yours was though.” Enjolras interrupted as he pulled at his boot, balancing himself on one leg.

Courfeyrac laughed but then continued up again, “A neon sign proclaiming that he got laid.”

Combeferre just set him with an even glance. “It’s a Christmas sweater.”

“Enjolras, Enjolras. _Enjolras.”_ Courfeyrac cried, hand on his chest to steady himself.

“What the fuck?” Combeferre asked, still not fully understanding what the hell was happening with his friends or why the goddamn sweater seemed familiar.

“Enjolras, my child, I’m going to make a cake.” Courfeyrac made to get off the couch but Combeferre grabbed his arm.

“Freeze.” Combeferre ordered and both of his roommates actually did stop what they were doing for a second, although Enjolras did wobble dangerously. “Explain to me what the hell is happening.”

“I’m baking a congrats on the sex cake.” Courfeyrac explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world. By the door, Enjolras gave a small little cry of triumph as he finally got his boot off without losing his balance and toppling over.

“A, no one actually does that. And B, do I even want to know how you know that?”

“He’s wearing the Christmas sweater and can’t stop smiling.”

“And Christmas sweaters equal sex?”

Enjolras, taking pity on the confused and slightly annoyed look on their friend's face explained, “Courfeyrac, because he’s a fucking idiot, grabbed the first thing he could find when he left Jehan’s after they started dating and being that it’s Jehan, it was the ugliest Christmas sweater mankind had ever seen. A light up penguin monstrosity.”

“I thought it was kind of cute, considering.”

There was a beat and then Combeferre nodded his head in understanding, “Oh so you found one of Grantaire’s and. Oh okay I get it. You two are so fucking weird. Courf, make red velvet please I’ve had a craving for the past week.”

“You’re using me.” Courfeyrac complained but he was already off the couch.

“I’m just happy we no longer have to suffer through your unconscious, desperate, and frankly painful attempts at flirting. I'd rather watch an American Bigfoot _documentary._ ”

Enjolras ignored the dig to look after Courfeyrac as he headed towards the kitchen, “I swear to god you better not have bought box mix again.”

“Yeah well, you better not have bought coconut flour again.” Corfeyrac called back over his shoulder. 

Twenty minutes after Enjolras disappeared into the kitchen after Courfeyrac, Combeferre’s phone went off and he glanced to the screen:

Jehan: _Can you tell Courf to answer his phone?_

_Combeferre: He and Enjolras are baking a cake. Please come save us._

_Jehan: ??_

_Jehan: I’ll be there in 10._

 

_*_

 

Jehan walked into the tail end of a battle. There was a mist in the air and the kitchen was entirely covered in a thin white dust. Combeferre turned towards him, lips pressed into a thin, unamused line. Courfeyrac and Enjolras were laughing hysterically, clutching each other to stay upright. Jehan opened his mouth but Combeferre, as he took off his glasses and wiped them on his sleeve, beat him too it, “Don’t bother asking. I’m fairly sure they just broke a few laws of physics.”

The pair in the kitchen got a semblance of control over themselves, their laughter was now down to chuckles that bubbled up every once in a while. Jehan couldn’t stop smiling at them.

“Jehan!” Courfeyrac called, “I thought I’d never see you again!”

“The mixer almost killed us.” Enjolras added, the smile on his face was betrayed by a slightly panicked look in his eyes.

“How?” he asked, despite Combeferre telling him it was pointless.

“Courf got the spatula stuck in the bowl an instead of turning it off, I turned it all the way up.”

“I think there’s some of it in the living room.”

“Cake batter?” Jehan asked, trying to remember if he he had seen any as he walked into the apartment.

“No the spatula.”

Jehan glanced to Combeferre who looked torn between exasperation and laughter. Jehan’s lip twitched into a smile and the two in the kitchen started laughing again.

 

*

 

As it turned out, good things _do_ happen in threes.

 

They already had their official Les Amis de l'ABC Christmas party, their official Les Amis party (Bahorel kept trying to stop them from calling parties with just their friends that because people from their actual club kept complaining about not getting invited/hearing about it/ _i thought we weren't allowed to have champagne towers anymore_ ), and about seven Holiday Movie Nights (including a Halloween Throwback Night and a marathon of all The Mummy movies where, to be festive, Combeferre stuck a Santa hat on the edge of the screen and they drank when it aligned) but it was Christmas Eve Eve and since everyone was already at Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s apartment (or would be there soon), all it took was Jehan turning on the fairy lights and Bossuet putting on a holiday playlist to make it a Party.

Courfeyrac and Jehan had announced their new relationship with literal confetti while Enjolras and Grantaire just let everyone realize on their own (read: Courfeyrac and Combeferre did it for them).

From the couch, Grantaire watched Enjolras and Courfeyrac build a gingerbread house and gave a tiny gasp, “Oh my god. I’m dating a nerd.”

Bahorel, who was closest to him, grimaced, “I think I gave them too many fireball hot chocolates.”

“That doesn’t change who he is in his soul.” Joly informed him solemnly, thus resolving him of his sins. Grantaire laughed and kicked out around Bahorel to nudge Joly, who let himself teeter from the impact and Bossuet wrapped his arms around him.

“Sorry I’m late—“ Marius interrupted, throwing the door open, “Cosette’ll be here in a second.”

Enjolras stopped abruptly, a bit of green frosting on his forehead, and snorted in laughter. He pressed his lips together and looked away. After a moment he pressed his knuckles against his lips in an attempt to keep his laughter stifled. Marius sent him a scandalized look from where he stood in the doorway. Courfeyrac, always helpful, started a slow clap that most of the other picked up even though they hadn’t the faintest clue what they were applauding. Marius’ entire face lit up like a Christmas light and Enjolras lost most of his control, he laughed from behind his hand. Combeferre shut his eyes and put his face in his hand. Next to Marius, Grantaire looked from Enjolras to Courfeyrac to Combeferre. Something in Combeferre’s expression must have tipped him off because his eyes widened, “Oh!”

“What are we applauding?” Cosette asked, appearing behind Marius, still in the doorway.

Enjolras took one look at her sweater (she and Marius were wearing _matching sweaters_ ) and stood, heading towards his bedroom. “I have to go.”

Cosette laughed loudly and then high-fived a lackluster Marius.

On the couch, Bossuet and Joly looked to each other, wide eyed and giddy.

“No.” Musichetta called from the kitchen island. “Absolutely not.”

“I forgot.” Marius whispered as Cosette lead him into the apartment and Grantaire headed towards Enjolras’ room.

Feuilly intercepted him on the way and pushed him down on the couch on top of Bossuet and Joly. “Absolutely not. The two of you will be in there for a half hour and then come out wearing sweaters. Not tonight.”

"Come on, there aren't even any in his room, you can check."

"I forgot." Marius whispered again as Courfeyrac swooped over to hand Marius a little bottle of brandy that he immediately sipped and Cosette giggled into his shoulder.


End file.
